MISS COTTRELL'S ELATION
UNCLE REDMAYNE adhered to his resolve, and took Agneta back to
Manchester on the following afternoon. Mother would gladly have kept
her for a few days; but he seemed to feel that she was safe only in his
custody. She looked very miserable as she bade us good-bye. I could
not help feeling sorry for her although she had caused me to suffer so
much. My heart grew cold and heavy within me whenever I thought of the
look I had seen on Alan Faulkner's face as he glanced at me across the
platform at Liverpool Street. It is hard to be misunderstood, and to
lose, through no fault of your own, the good opinion of one on whose
friendship you set a high value.
Mother had discovered that I was not looking so well as when I was last
at home, and she insisted on my remaining with her for a week.
"I am sure that your Aunt Patty will not mind," she said; "I have
written to explain it all to her, and she will hear too from your
uncle. You need not be afraid that she will misjudge you, Nan."
"Oh, I am not afraid of Aunt Patty," I said. "She will understand. It
is what Mrs. Canfield and other people will think that makes me uneasy."
"Oh, your aunt will be able to explain the matter to Mrs. Canfield,
and to make it right with other people too, I dare say," mother said
soothingly; "and, if not, what does it matter? You acted for the best;
you did nothing wrong. Your uncle said he was very grateful to you for
what you had done."
"But I did nothing," was my reply. "After all, I might as well have
stayed at the garden party, for uncle was on the platform when the
train came in. He would have stopped Agneta without my being there."
I spoke with some bitterness, for it seemed to me that I had made a
fruitless sacrifice of what was very precious. I could not believe
that aunt would be able to make everything right, nor could I persuade
myself that it did not matter.
"I am sure that your uncle was glad that you were with her," mother
said. "Don't worry about it, Nan. It is cowardly to mind what people
may say about us, if our conscience tells us we have done right. I
would not have a girl reckless as to the opinion others may form of
her, but it is a mistake to let ourselves be unduly influenced by a
fear of misjudgment."
I knew that mother's words were true, but it was not of "people" that I
was thinking. It was good to be with mother again. I enjoyed the days
at home, yet my mind dwelt much at "Gay Bowers," and I found myself
looking forward to my return with mingled longing and dread.
To my great satisfaction it was arranged that father should take me
back and stay over Sunday at "Gay Bowers." Aunt could give him Mr.
Dicks's room, as that gentleman had gone with his daughter to the
seaside for a fortnight. At the expiration of that time Paulina hoped
once more to take up her abode at "Gay Bowers."
In spite of all misgivings, I felt wonderfully lighthearted when father
and I reached Chelmsford late in the afternoon. His presence was a
great support to me. If Alan Faulkner doubted me, he could not fail to
see that father and I were on the best of terms. I knew that he liked
father, and I looked forward to hearing them talk together.
As the train entered the station I caught sight of the wagonette
waiting outside. Had any one come to meet us? As I stepped on to the
platform I looked about me at once eagerly and timidly. Some one had
come to meet us. It was Miss Cottrell. My heart sank as I caught sight
of her. I could have dispensed with her society.
Miss Cottrell was looking wonderfully well. Was it the new hat and
the pink blouse she wore which made her appear younger? I could not
believe that it was simply my return which gave her face such a radiant
expression. Yet she greeted me very warmly. It was evident that she was
in the best of spirits. Even father noticed how well she looked.
"I hope you are as well as you look, Miss Cottrell," he said. "You seem
to have quite recovered from the fatigue of nursing. Yet you must have
had a very trying time."
"Oh, no, indeed!" she said briskly. "Paulina's was not a bad case, and
she has been convalescent for the past week. I really had not much to
do."
"I expected to hear that you had gone with her to the seaside," I said.
"Oh, I could not do that," she said, bridling in a way I thought
curious, "and Paulina did not need me as Mr. Dicks proposed taking the
nurse, though her post is now a sinecure."
"He must feel very grateful to you for your devotion to his daughter,"
father said.
"Oh, not at all; I was very glad to be of service," she said, and
then, to my amusement, she blushed like a girl and looked so oddly
self-conscious that I could have laughed.
But the next moment I did not feel at all like laughing, for she went
on to say:
"We were all so glad to hear that you were coming, Mr. Darracott, for
we are such a small party now. Colonel Hyde will be obliged to you for
keeping him in countenance, for he is our only gentleman."
"Really! Why, what has become of Professor Faulkner?" asked my father,
while my heart gave a sudden bound and then seemed to stand still.
"He has gone to Edinburgh on business—something to do with a post at a
college there, I believe," said Miss Cottrell.
I seemed to turn both hot and cold as she spoke. In that brief moment
of suspense I felt that I could not possibly bear it, if he had taken
his final departure from "Gay Bowers" without saying good-bye to me.
"Then he is coming back again," father said quietly.
"Oh, yes, he is coming back some time," Miss Cottrell replied; "he has
not taken his books and things with him."
I breathed freely again; but my heart was like lead. All the pleasure
of my return was gone. I felt sick at the thought of having to wait for
days, possibly for weeks, ere I could be assured that Alan Faulkner was
not hopelessly estranged from me. I fell silent and let Miss Cottrell
do all the talking as we drove through the sweet-scented lanes on
that lovely summer evening. How differently things were turning out
from what I had anticipated! At last a shrewd, observant glance from
Miss Cottrell warned me of her terrible skill in putting two and two
together, and I roused myself and made an effort to appear happier than
I was.
"Gay Bowers" looked much as usual as we drove up to the door; the roses
had come out more plentifully about the porch. Sweep had a disconsolate
air as he lay on the mat; he missed some one. I could hardly believe
that it was only a week since I rode away from the house in such
desperate haste. It might have happened a year ago, it seemed so far
away. I felt like the ghost of my old self as I forced myself to smile
and talk and appear as pleased to be there as if nothing had changed
for me. What a blessing it was that Miss Cottrell was so cheerful and
her flow of small talk never ceased!
"It is good to have you back, Nan," Aunt Patty said, coming into my
room when she had shown father his. "You must not run away from me
again."
"I wish I had not run away," I said ruefully; "the people who met
me tearing into Chelmsford must have thought me mad. What did Mrs.
Canfield say?"
"Oh, when you did not come back we thought something must be very
wrong. I went home to see what was the matter, and when I could find
neither you nor Agneta I was uneasy enough until I got the telegram,"
said my aunt. "Afterwards I thought it best to tell Mrs. Canfield, in
confidence, the whole truth, and I am afraid I did not spare Agneta.
What a foolish girl! I pity her parents! She came near ruining their
happiness and her own!"
"She is greatly to be pitied, too, auntie," I said; "poor Agneta is
very unhappy."
"Well, I won't be so hard-hearted as to say that she deserved to
suffer," replied Aunt Patty. "You will miss her, Nan."
I smiled at the sly significance of my aunt's words as I glanced round
my pretty room. She knew how pleased I was to see it restored to its
old order and to have it for my own sanctum once more. Yet I was very
sorry that Agneta had departed in such a way.
"Auntie," I said, after a minute, "what has come to Miss Cottrell? She
seems overjoyed to be at 'Gay Bowers' again!"
Aunt Patty laughed. "You may well ask what has happened to her," she
said. "It is not just her return to this house which is making her so
joyous. I wonder she has not told you. Miss Cottrell is engaged to be
married!"
"Oh, auntie!" I exclaimed. "You don't mean it! Not to Mr. Dicks?"
"To no less a person than Josiah Dicks," replied Aunt Patty with
twinkling eyes.
I was not altogether surprised, and yet the news was sufficiently
exciting. So this was how the American would evince his gratitude for
Miss Cottrell's devotion to his daughter!
"Well, I never!" I exclaimed. "But they always got on well together.
Of course she is delighted, for he has so much money and she thinks a
great deal of wealth."
"Come, come, don't be too hard on Miss Cottrell!" my aunt replied.
"Give her credit for better feelings. In spite of her faults—and they
are not very serious ones, after all—she has a large heart, and I
believe she really loves Mr. Dicks."
"Auntie! Is it possible?" I cried. "But poor Paulina! How does she like
it? It must be a trial to her."
"On the contrary, Miss Cottrell assures me that she is quite pleased,"
my aunt said.
But that statement I took with a grain of salt. I remembered Miss
Cottrell's talent for embroidering facts, and classed the pleasure
she ascribed to Paulina with her glowing descriptions of dear Lady
Mowbray's' attachment to herself.
"When will they be back?" I asked.
"The Dickses? On Wednesday week," aunt replied.
She might have known that I wanted to hear when Mr. Faulkner was
expected to return; but she never mentioned him, and something withheld
me from making a direct inquiry.
Then aunt went away, and I began to make myself tidy, feeling that the
house seemed strangely quiet and empty after the cheerful bustle of
home, and oppressed by the thought of the days before me. I had now
been at 'Gay Bowers' for about six months, and the time had passed
swiftly enough, but I looked forward with some dread to the remainder
of my sojourn there.
Yet how lovely the dear old garden was looking as the sun declined!
I stepped from my window on to the top of the porch. The boxes which
bordered it were planted with mignonette, amid which some fuchsias and
geraniums in pots made a brilliant show. There was just room for me to
sit in a little low chair in the space thus enclosed, and in the warm
days I often sat there to read or sew. Alan Faulkner used to call this
spot my "observatory," since from it I could survey the front garden
and see all that passed the house on the road that descended from
the common to the village. I had not stood there many moments when I
perceived Jack Upsher spinning down the hill on his bicycle. He took
off his cap and waved it gleefully as he caught sight of me. At the
gate, he alighted, and there was nothing for it but I must go down and
talk to him.
"Oh, Nan, it is jolly to see you again!" he cried as I ran out. "I am
glad you've come back, and isn't it nice that most of the others have
taken themselves off? It will seem like the good old times before the
'paying guests' came."
"Aunt Patty would hardly consider it nice if all her guests departed,"
I said. "However, Miss Cottrell is with us again, and father has come
down with me to-day, so we are not quite without society."
"I know. The governor and I are coming in to see him this evening," he
said; "so then we'll have some tennis, Nan, and you shall tell me all
you have been doing since you departed in such imprudent haste without
any luggage. I heard how you rode into town on that occasion. You
will please not to say anything to me in the future on the subject of
'scorching.'"
What a boy he was! We had a sharp war of words for a few minutes,
and then he rode off, convinced that he had got the better of me.
Though he did not dare to say so, I could see that Mr. Faulkner's
absence afforded him gratification. It was very strange. I never could
understand what made him dislike the Professor so much.
I took an early opportunity of congratulating Miss Cottrell on her
engagement, and received in response such an outburst of confidence
from her as was almost overpowering. With the utmost pride she
exhibited her betrothal ring, on which shone a magnificent diamond,
almost as big as a pea.
"It frightens me to think what it must have cost," she said, "yet you
see he has so much money that he hardly knows what to do with it, for
he is naturally a man of simple tastes and habits."
"So I imagine," I said, "or he would hardly have been happy so long
here with us. Paulina helps him to spend his money. He must be glad to
have found some one else on whom he may lavish gifts."
"He is very thankful that he came to 'Gay Bowers,'" she said solemnly,
"and you can't think how glad I am that we both chanced to see your
aunt's advertisement."
"It has indeed proved a happy circumstance," I said, "but I hope this
will not lead to your cutting short your stay, Miss Cottrell."
"I don't know," she said, blushing like a girl; "He wants me to—name
a day in the autumn, and then he will take me abroad. I have so often
longed to go on the Continent, and it will be so delightful to travel
with him to take care of me, you know. And of course we shall do
everything in the first style, for the expense will be nothing to him.
Am I not a fortunate woman?"
"I can quite understand that you feel that," I said. "And how about
Paulina—what will she do?"
"Oh, Paulina is so good and sweet!" she said ecstatically. "Her father
would like her to go with us, but she says she would rather stay here
with Mrs. Lucas till we come back. You know I think she is rather
interested in the Professor."
"Oh!" I said. "But he has gone away!"
"Only for a few weeks," said Miss Cottrell carelessly.
She went on talking, but for some moments I lost all sense of what she
was saying. A question recalled my mind to the present. Miss Cottrell
was asking me if I had ever seen a buggy.
"No," I said dreamily; "it is a kind of carriage, I believe."
"Of course," said Miss Cottrell, "that is what I told you. He says he
will take me for drives in a buggy when we go to New York. I thought
you might know what it is like. It does not sound very nice somehow."